Three Men and a Cabin
by Sugar Kane
Summary: All sorts of crazy things happen when three big city attorneys go camping.


_Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, and am only writing these stories for my own enjoyment._

_Author's Note: The idea of Ben owning a cabin in New Hampshire belongs to my housemate, who also beta-read this for me. Thanks a million!_

Plunk. Plunk. Plunk.

The sound kept Ben awake. It was dark, and his pocket watch wasn't illuminated; all he could deduce about the time was that it was after midnight. Outside, a thunderstorm raged. Flashes of lightning illuminated the room every few minutes, sometimes coming so close that Ben entertained thoughts of trees falling on his newly-purchased cabin.

He silently prayed that the sound wasn't that of a leaking roof, but he knew that his prayer was probably futile. His two companions were asleep, in brand-new sleeping bags in the center of the room. Ben wondered how long it would take for them to be awakened by the storm, the dripping rain, or both.

* * *

It hadn't been easy, convincing Adam and Paul to go on this trip. Both had barely been out of the city, and both couldn't believe that he had purchased a cabin sight unseen.

"Come on," he had said to them. "It'll be great. We all need some R & R, before we get weighed down with another trial."

So he'd ordered some camping equipment from L.L. Bean, and they set out for northern New Hampshire on the Labor Day weekend. The air conditioner in Ben's car conked out somewhere near Hartford, and the outside temperature hovered above eighty-five degrees. The rest of the ride to New Hampshire was uncomfortable to say the least; in a hot car with all four windows rolled down and only one hard-rock station on the radio. Not to mention the nightmarish traffic.

When they got to the cabin, Ben had to check to make sure he had driven to the right address. This was _not_ what the realtor had described in his sales pitch. The cabin was unbelievably run-down, constructed of graying weathered wood. All the windows visible from the driveway were broken, and the grounds were hideously overgrown.

Ben gulped. Paul's jaw dropped. And while Adam was silent, the look on his face said everything: _I told you so._

But they were here now, Ben reasoned, and it was at least a four-hour drive back to Manhattan. So, despite the primitive accommodations, they settled in. Besides, there was plenty of scenery and fishing to be had. There was a lake nearby, and a fishing boat had been included with the purchase of the cabin.

Except that when they tried to launch the boat, they discovered that it had a hole in the bottom. Thank God they hadn't gotten that far from the dock; the boat took on water at an alarming rate.

So, they tried to fish from the dock. Adam cut his finger on his fishing hook; Ben had rarely heard him use so many expletives. That venture was abandoned.

And the cabin had no indoor bathroom, as advertised. The only facilities were a creaky outhouse and a sink that ran rust-colored water. The stench from the former was unbelievable.

And the floor was dangerously flimsy.

And the wood stove was missing its flue.

And the closet was home to a family of raccoons.

* * *

The final straw, however, was this. They were in the vicinity of Mount Washington, and nightfall had brought with it a drastic drop in temperature. Then, even later, came the storm. Here they were, miles from home in perilous weather, in shelter that was beyond unreliable and under a roof that was leaking.

_Boom. _More thunder.

"Paul," Ben whispered, "are you awake?"

"Damn right," Paul replied. "You think I can sleep in this?"

"I'll take muggers over this any day of the week," Adam grumbled.

Then the unthinkable happened. The roof gave way, inviting a deluge of water inside. Soaked to the bone, the three men quickly grabbed their things and made a run for Ben's car while lightning cracked all around them. It was a miracle that no one got struck.

Two and a half hours later, they pulled into a motel in the town of Berlin. It took Ben forever to find the main highway, and the downpour forced him off the road several times. The motel looked less than desirable with its broken neon sign advertising free HBO, but at least it was _shelter. _They had to wake the proprietor, a crusty old man, to purchase a room.

As the three of them removed their rain-soaked clothes, Ben noticed that his legs were red and itching. He realized with embarrassment that he was also itching in other places; not wanting to brave the outhouse, he had relieved himself in the bushes that afternoon.

It was a lesson in humility; three big-city attorneys standing in a seedy motel room in their underwear. Paul had remained mostly silent throughout the ordeal, as though deferring to his superiors. Adam, though, was anything but.

"Well, this is just dandy," he harrumphed. "You got taken to the cleaners on this one, my boy."

_finis_


End file.
